Chapter 15 — Ava's POV: No, I'm Not Jealous
Lunch ended too quickly.
The moment I stepped away from the oak trees behind the west quad, where Ethan and I had eaten under the shade, my legs suddenly felt too light. Almost shaky. I kept walking — or pretending to — but every step away from him felt… wrong. Like I was leaving something important behind without meaning to.
His laugh still echoed faintly in my ears. The way he'd said "I like seeing you" The way he'd panicked when I asked about Cassie. The way I'd practically melted when he said she wasn't his girlfriend.
God, I thought, pressing a hand to my chest as I walked. Get it together. This is ridiculous.
But the warmth hadn't left. It sat under my skin, glowing, trembling, alive. Like the tiniest spark of something I definitely shouldn't let myself name.
I tried focusing on the way the sunlight caught on the windows, on the hum of student chatter, on anything but the memory of him looking at me like I mattered.
But it didn't help.
I went to class — Or attempted to but it was hard paying attention in class
I reached my lecture hall early, slipped into a seat near the middle, and opened my notebook to a blank page. Try as I might to look functional, I couldn't force my brain to engage.
I tried writing the date: Tuesday, Sept—
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
My fingers shook. My stomach fluttered. And suddenly all I could see was that stupid notification on his phone:
Cassie: FYI I'm stealing you for coffee on Thursday so clear your schedule.
Cassie. Who was Cassie?
A girl. A friend? Someone who wanted to "steal" him?
My pen touched the paper. Instead of notes, the first thing I wrote was:
Cassie
Then immediately scribbled it out, cheeks flushing even though no one could see.
What is wrong with you, Ava? You don't get flustered over boys. You don't get thrown off by girls texting them. You don't get jealous.
Except apparently, you do.
Apparently, you very much do.
And if I was honest with myself — not that I wanted to be — I knew why.
It wasn't Cassie.
It was Ethan.
Ethan with his stupid soft smiles and quiet humor. Ethan who'd saved my life. Ethan who always noticed things about me I didn't say. Ethan who touched my hair gently like I mattered. Ethan who admitted, shyly, that he'd never had a girlfriend.
Ethan who had said he liked seeing me.
I pressed my hand to my forehead, mentally slapping myself.
Stop it. Just stop. He's just being nice. You're reading too much into it.
But the thought that Cassie got to text him whenever she wanted…Got to ask him for coffee…Got her own separate time with him… she even had the ability to"steal" him for day enough that he'd clear out his schedule.
It made my stomach twist unpleasantly.
The professor's lecture started. I didn't hear a word.
***
Between classes, I sat outside on a bench under the shade of a maple tree, taking slow breaths to calm myself.
It didn't work.
So I did something I hate admitting:
I searched "Cassie" on my phone.
I started with the class group chat.
Then I checked Instagram.
It didn't take long.
Cassie-the girl he was talking to: She was cute, had freckles, and a bright smile. There was something about her that gave off a friendly aura. Like the "Girl Nextdoor" vibes. Or "Childhood Friends".
In one of her older posts, I saw Ethan in the background. Not posing with her — but close enough behind her that the two of them looked… familiar.
I zoomed in.
My stomach clenched.
They looked like they fit together. Like classmates with inside jokes. People who'd known each other for months.
Someone he saw in a different light.
Someone close.
Someone… not me.
I snapped out of it and slammed my phone shut, face burning.
This is pathetic! Why am I acting like this? He's not mine. I barely know the guy.
But the words felt hollow.
I made my way to practice.
Track practice at 3:00 should've grounded me. Should've snapped me back into routine. Should've drowned out every thought except pace and speed and form.
But instead…
My coach was yelling about the upcoming meet — the one next week — and my mind wasn't on the track. It was back under the oak tree, back with Ethan's knee brushing mine, back with him saying—
"We're… just friends."
"We should… do this again."
"I like being around you."
God.
I was running too fast, losing rhythm, overthinking. My teammate, Tara, nearly collided with me.
"Hey!" she called, skidding. "What's your deal today?"
"Nothing," I said, out of breath.
"Uh-huh." She wasn't buying it. "You've been off since lunch."
I blushed too quickly. Too obviously.
Tara raised a brow. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your hero, would it?"
My heart stopped.
"Wh— what?"
"Oh, come on. Everyone knows you and van-boy have been glued to each other since the accident."
"Van-boy!?! He's not— I'm not— we're not—"
"Not what? You're not going to deny it?"
"I— I—"
She smirked. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
I nearly tripped over air. "Tara—!"
But she just jogged ahead, humming like she'd solved the mystery of the universe.
After practice, as I toweled sweat from my face, one of the older girls — Sienna — came over and sat beside me on the bench.
"Sooo," she started casually, "you and the guy who saved you."
I groaned. "Not you too."
"What? I'm just curious."
"There's nothing going on," I lied.
She eyed me. "Do you think nothing's going on?"
I froze.
She didn't smile. Didn't laugh. Just waited.
Do I? I had to think about this.
Images flashed through my mind — too fast, too warm, too much:
Him falling asleep next to me in the hospital. Ethan brushing hair behind my ear during the picnic. Smiling when I told him he brought me peace. Seeing him flustered when he thought he might've bothered me today. Him assuring me Cassie wasn't his girlfriend.
And then him saying, gently, sincerely—
"I like seeing you."
Something inside me tightened painfully.
"…I don't know," I whispered.
Sienna nudged me. "You'll figure it out. But if you wanna talk about it you got my number. I may not be able to give you the best advice but I can listen and give me 2 cents." she soot and walked off.
But I sat there thinking... that was the scary part.
I wasn't sure I wanted to.
Because the truth I was trying to outrun was starting to catch up.
***
Back in my dorm that night, I sat on my bed with damp hair and a blanket wrapped around my legs, staring at my phone like it was a ticking bomb.
Ethan's contact glowed softly on my screen.
"Ethan ☀️"
God, even the stupid sun emoji made my stomach flip.
I typed:
Did you get home okay?
Deleted.
Typed:
I had fun today.
Deleted.
Typed:
…Do you like Cassie? Be honest.
DELETED SO FAST I ALMOST BROKE MY THUMB!
I groaned and fell backward onto my pillows, covering my face with my hands.
"Why is this so hard?"
I wasn't like this. I wasn't shy. I wasn't insecure. I wasn't jealous.
Except apparently I was.
My phone buzzed unexpectedly.
I jerked upright, nearly throwing it across the room.
Ethan: Had a good time today. Thanks for meeting me.
My heart punched me in the ribs.
He texted first.
God help me.
I typed back:
Ava: Me too. The spot was nice.
Then I hovered over his name again.
Today's conversation replayed in my head:
"You're really easy to talk to.""I like seeing you.""She's not my girlfriend.""Good."
God. I was in trouble.
***********
I clicked over to Instagram again — a stupid, masochistic reflex.
Cassie's story had updated.
A picture of her holding a latte.Caption: "Coffee tomorrow with van boy. Gonna get the full story 🤭☕️"
My chest tightened like a fist.
I wasn't mad at her.
I wasn't angry.
I wasn't even jealous, right?
I was just—
Just—
Why does it hurt so much?
Why did the idea of someone else sitting across from him, hearing him laugh, make me feel sick?
Why did I feel like I was losing something that wasn't even mine?
Why did it feel like today under the oak tree meant something so much more to me than it probably did to him?
I put my phone face-down and lay back again, closing my eyes.
I knew exactly why.
But I wasn't ready to say it.
Not yet.
Maybe not even to myself.
But as I pictured him under the branches, sunlight on his eyelashes, looking at me like I was the only person in the world for those brief moments…
The truth whispered quietly, painfully:
I didn't want him to look at anyone else like that.
I opened my eyes, heart hammering.
The realization settled soft and terrifying in my chest.
I wanted to be special to him. Just a little. Just enough.
God, I was so screwed.